


Do (Not) Feed the Trolls

by myrtlebroadbelt



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Blogging, Humor, Internet, M/M, Modern Royalty, Social Media, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, Writer Bilbo Baggins, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6744709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrtlebroadbelt/pseuds/myrtlebroadbelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo would never be so self-righteous as to describe everyone who disagreed with him as a troll. It’s just that most of them were. This one, however, was different from the rest. Their comment was grammatically correct and properly capitalized. It was firm, yet there was a distinct lack of the F-word or demands that Bilbo “get a real job.” </p><p>Still, it was incredibly pompous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do (Not) Feed the Trolls

Bilbo took his first sip of morning tea and opened the laptop on his kitchen table. He wanted to get just one post up before setting about making himself a proper breakfast, but he knew he would most likely have inhaled an entire blueberry muffin by the time he finished his first hundred words.

He was delayed for a moment as he searched for his glasses, which he eventually found hiding under the face-down pages of the book he had been reading the night before.

Yes, he still read books. What he wasn’t doing, much to his disappointment, was writing them. Multiple times a day, he would glance at the file icon on his desktop labeled simply “book” and vow to get back to it soon. But the fact remained that after a day of typing up post after post under a digital byline, he wasn’t in the mood to type much more. And seeing as that digital byline was actually bringing in money, and had been for the past three years since he accepted the position, it took priority.

It’s not that he disliked his job, really. He was able to do it from his house in the country, which he had inherited from his parents along with a generous fortune that had steadily dwindled in the years since. He had flexible hours and could take as many lunches as he wanted, whenever he wanted. He didn’t have a boss breathing down his neck or feel pressured to socialize with annoying co-workers. It was the ideal work atmosphere for a proud homebody such as himself.

It was just that, when he grew up saying he wanted to be a writer, he didn’t exactly expect to be blogging about what the hottest celebrities were saying, wearing, and tweeting. Oh, and also who they were sleeping with. That was a big one.

The Silver Spoon mercifully permitted him to take a more creative approach to delivering the news. He was allowed to have a voice, and he hoped it was a distinctive one. He also very privately hoped that someone would enjoy his work enough to offer him a book deal, although he was quick to remind himself that even if they did, they probably wouldn’t be interested in a fantasy novel about a quest to slay a dragon.

Back at his computer with his glasses on, he opened Google News to catch up on whatever major birth or death or feud he may have missed while he was sleeping. The timestamps always made him feel terribly behind. Fourteen hours ago, even at 8 o’clock in the morning, might as well be a fortnight ago in the world of celebrity reporting. Luckily, The Silver Spoon’s most loyal readers came for the site’s unique spin, even if they had already seen the headlines elsewhere.

Google didn’t provide him with anything interesting, so he moved on to checking the late-night talk show clips. Ah, perfect. Reality star Thranduil Greenleaf was drunk on _The Council of Elrond_ last night while hawking his new wine. He couldn’t ask for a better Friday morning story. He worked “Ready for the Weekend” into the headline and breezed through the content with not one, not two, but three blond jokes. Some stars just did all the work for him.

The day passed quickly from there, as Bilbo wrote up everything from Dori Dwarfson’s pretentious lifestyle website (Chamomile tea that strengthens your sixth sense? Really?) to legendary wildlife expert Radagast Brown’s comments on marijuana. In between, he ate what appeared to be half the contents of his cupboards and refrigerator, which meant he would have to go into town for shopping after work.

Late in the afternoon, Bilbo encountered his typical final story slump. It always happened that just when he was ready to finish the day, and in this case begin the weekend, he couldn’t find anything suitable to write about. After nearly an hour of hunting, he spotted something that interested him—an interview with actress Arwen Undomiel about her decision to give up fame and start a family. But before he could claim it in the staff group chat, another writer, Ori, beat him to it.

Damn. And he’d already thought up the perfect headline about her #sacrifice.

Desperate, Bilbo clicked through to a photo gallery of Prince Thorin of Erebor attending a recent event. The Silver Spoon occasionally covered royalty, if they did something noteworthy or amusing. Bilbo nearly exited the tab after only a few seconds, however, thinking there really wasn’t anything to say about the photos. When he scrolled down to the bottom of the first full-body shot, he changed his mind.

“Ugh,” he said aloud, a habit born of living alone, “not those boots again.”

They were brown, scuffed leather with a thick sole, a rounded toe, and frayed laces. It was a style that, in Bilbo’s opinion, would only be appropriate on a lumberjack or a mountain climber, and certainly not a prince. Yet Prince Thorin wore them with every outfit, no matter how formal. In this case he had them on with a polished navy blue suit.

Bilbo couldn’t for the life of him figure out how he got away with it, for if he had the poor taste to wear the awful things in the first place, surely he must have a stylist guiding him in the direction of all those well-tailored garments he was frequently seen in. Yet why didn’t the stylist veto the boots? It was quite the paradox.

He imagined perhaps it had something to do with the prince’s temperament, which was rumored to be rather grim. If a stylist were so cowed by a grumpy demeanor to allow such an outright sartorial sin to be committed, they had no business being a stylist in the first place, if you asked Bilbo.

Even so, the public didn’t dare criticize it, for the prince was, admittedly, extremely handsome. All sharp angles and piercing blue eyes. A broad frame and a neatly trimmed beard. A smile that, when he accidentally showed it, made him even handsomer. All of this Bilbo could certainly appreciate. He just couldn’t get past those damn boots.

He noted with some irony that he was viewing these photos while sitting at home barefoot in a cardigan and pajama bottoms—although not the same pajama bottoms he slept in, he would be the first to remind you. He made a point of putting on fresh clothes every day, but considering his morning commute involved stepping out of one room and into another, he didn’t feel like wasting a perfectly good pair of corduroys.

And anyway, he wasn’t a prince.

Bilbo copied and pasted the link to the photos into the group chat.

_Thinking of writing this up and theorizing about why he never takes those boots off._

He sat back and waited for approval, sipping from the day’s third cup of tea and hoping that his editor Lobelia hadn’t run off to a meeting. At last, he received a response. It was, as always, terse.

_title?_

Bilbo paused for a moment to consider what conveyed the most information and humor in as few words as possible. After a few tweaks, he had it.

_# Possible Reasons Prince Thorin Literally Can’t Take Off His Boots_

Throwing a “literally” in there was good, right? He was fairly certain that’s what the kids were saying these days. He began to doubt his decision, however, when he noticed Lobelia typing for what felt like an eternity. An eternity, it turned out, had even more letters than what her final message ended up being.

_good_

To that she added a thumbs up emoji, and Bilbo cringed. This may be the 21st century, and they may be writing frivolous articles about celebrities, but he would still appreciate a little professionalism.

He ignored it and quickly got to work, knowing that the sooner he finished, the sooner he could go for groceries and make himself dinner. It wasn’t difficult to get the words out, as he had plenty of opinions on the subject at hand. This is how it went:

 

 

 

> 10 Possible Reasons Prince Thorin Literally Can’t Take Off His Boots
> 
> By Bilbo Baggins
> 
> I know it’s considered sacrilege to criticize the appearance of one so breathtakingly, life-ruiningly handsome as Prince Thorin of Erebor, and the lot of you have probably already scrolled to the end of this post to scream at me about my rudeness and, most likely, my jealousy. (Why oh why is that always where you end up? Do at least _try_ to be original.)
> 
> However, I’ve remained silent for far too long, and these new photos from today’s opening of the Lonely Mountain Raven Sanctuary are the straw that broke the camel’s back, and that will now break my keyboard. It’s time to talk about those dreadful boots he’s always wearing, rain or shine, formal or informal, hiking emergency or no hiking emergency.
> 
> Because really, what other possible reason could there be, other than poor taste, to wear such things? Since suggesting Prince Thorin has poor taste would probably be the cause of my immediate death at the ends of your proverbial torches and pitchforks (or your literal ones, as I wouldn’t put it past his more ardent supporters), I have decided to put forth a few hypotheses attempting to explain why the devastatingly dapper monarch seems never to remove his most rugged footwear. It’s partly to placate those of you who would have me dead, and partly for my own peace of mind. Let us begin.
> 
>   1. He has a tendency to stub his toe.
>   2. His chauffeur is a flake, and he’s worried he may need to walk home.
>   3. He’s an understudy in a production of _Stomp_ , and he wants to cut down on changing time should he be called in to perform.
>   4. He keeps a secret knife in there in case he’s kidnapped.
>   5. They’re the only shoes that accommodate his strangely shaped toes.
>   6. They’re literally glued to his feet thanks to a prank by his nephews.
>   7. His feet get cold easily, so he has to wear thick socks.
>   8. They’re a figment of my imagination.
>   9. His stylist hates him.
>   10. He’s the victim of a witch’s curse.
> 

> 
> Let me know which reason you think is most plausible below in the comments. Or tweet me @endofbag. I look forward to your hate.

After a quick proofread, he hit publish, shut his laptop, and stretched his arms over his head. Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, he estimated that he had just enough time to make it into town and back home before nightfall. So he tugged on a pair of real trousers and started down the hill.

He didn’t have a car, which was another reason his job was so convenient. The grocery offered a delivery service, which he took advantage of in the coldest months, but for the rest of the year Bilbo was fond of walking. He was less fond of delivery boys insisting their way into his kitchen and snooping around to report back to nosy townspeople.

They were all extremely curious about the bachelor who lived on the hill and wrote about movie stars all day. Some of them even seemed to believe he knew the people he wrote about personally. Truth be told, the closest Bilbo had ever been to a celebrity was when his parents had Gandalf Greyhame over for their annual Midsummer’s Eve party. He was a diplomat or a professor or an investigative journalist or something. No one was was ever quite sure, and yet somehow everyone had heard his name somewhere or another.

“Still writing for that newspaper, then?” asked Mr. Worrywort as he rang up Bilbo’s butternut squash.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, having long ago tired of trying to explain the internet to the old man.

“You should write about my son Grigory’s pumpkin. Nearly forty stone it is. Biggest the county’s ever seen. Now _that’s_ news.”

“I’ll, er, mention it to my editor,” Bilbo offered, hefting the brown paper shopping bag off the counter and nodding his goodbye.

By the time he arrived back at his front door, he had finished an entire packet of newly purchased toffee and was in the midst of picking bits out of his teeth with his tongue. He paused on the porch and turned to watch the sun set beyond the rolling pastures, casting everything as far as the eye could see in a rose gold glow. He stood admiring its idyllic beauty for a moment, before the thought of dinner drove him inside.

Bilbo dropped the shopping bag heavily onto the kitchen counter and set about cooking—fried fish with lemon and roasted vegetables. When it was plated, he ventured into the wine cellar to retrieve a bottle and sat down for an exciting Friday night dining and drinking by the glow of his laptop.

After mindlessly scrolling through page after page of his obnoxious relatives’ Facebook photos and falling into and then successfully crawling out of a YouTube rabbit hole of hand-drawn calligraphy videos, he decided to take one final glance at The Silver Spoon’s comments before retiring to his bedroom with a book. He tried his damnedest to keep his work life and personal life separate, but when they occurred in the same room and on the same computer, checking audience reception after hours was far too tempting.

The first thing he noticed upon opening the moderation page was a new comment on his Prince Thorin post. It took him all but three words to deduce that he was dealing with a negative response, as opposed to one of the other two most frequent categories of feedback—fans who by some stretch of insanity believed their favorite celebrity diligently read the comment boards on every article about them and therefore proceeded to declare their undying love to said celebrity in the hope that their existence would be recognized… and spam.

Lobelia encouraged him and the other writers to reply to most of the comments they received. The old adage “Do not feed the trolls” did not apply to The Silver Spoon. As was explained to him when he started, trolls always wanted the last word, no matter how many times they insisted they were done with the conversation. Like an old rock star announcing a twelfth farewell tour, they would be back. And that meant increased traffic. Often if you kept them around long enough, other trolls would arrive and continue the job for you, bickering until the sun rose and they turned to stone, to borrow a plot point from Bilbo’s book. He may or may not have been inspired by real life.

Bilbo would never be so self-righteous as to describe everyone who disagreed with him as a troll. It’s just that most of them were. This one, however, was different from the rest. Their comment was grammatically correct and properly capitalized. It was firm, yet there was a distinct lack of the F-word or demands that Bilbo “get a real job.”

Still, it was incredibly pompous.

_I must say you are very rude, and I find it highly ironic that you would accuse anyone other than yourself of poor taste. You have no idea what the significance of those boots might be. In any case, it’s extremely shallow to judge this man on anything other than his character and accomplishments. I suggest you use your voice to draw attention to more important issues. For instance, the good work being done at the raven sanctuary where the above photograph was taken, which I notice you only mentioned as a minor detail before moving on to petty snark._

The display name, Bilbo noted, was Oakenshield.

Oakenshield. Where did they come up with that? He scoffed. Probably a reference to some indie band.

Usually he would just wait until Monday morning to respond, but he happened to have two and a half—no, make that three—glasses of red coursing through him at the moment, and he was just bored enough for a row.

He was not sober enough, however, to come up with anything more involved than this:

_Calm down, Prince Thorin._

Ha. He was clever. And sleepy. Time for bed.

The next morning when he awoke, curly hair a mess and eyes bleary, he had no memory of Oakenshield’s comment, or his reply to it. He then spent the entire weekend in blissful ignorance. As slow as he was to transition into relaxation mode on the weekdays, he made an effort not to do anything work-related on his days off. Instead, he spent most of the time reading, eating, and falling asleep in his armchair to afternoon reruns of _Mirkwood’s Next Top Model_.

Monday morning rolled around and, before he got started on his first post of the day, Bilbo paid a visit to the comment moderation page. After wading through five job scams and two enthusiastic messages from from a young woman who was “soooooo in looooooove” with Legolas Greenleaf and his “beauuutiful hair,” he noticed a reply from Oakenshield, and the memory came rushing back to him. As was customary, the returning comment was laughably long and overly offended in comparison to Bilbo’s pithy reply.

**Oakenshield**

_What are you suggesting? That I’m Prince Thorin himself commenting on a celebrity gossip blog? I can assure you, the prince has much better things to do with his time than read empty-headed rubbish like this._

Of course. An inability to detect sarcasm and an insult against the very “empty-headed rubbish” they themselves were reading and deeming important enough to comment on. It was simply too classic. Bilbo laughed to himself as he typed his rebuttal.

**Bilbo Baggins**

_Fine, I was wrong. You’re obviously not Prince Thorin. You’re his stylist. So sorry for the confusion._

And with that he got to writing. Three posts and two meals later, he checked the comments again. Oakenshield had returned.

**Oakenshield**

_Once again, you have grandly overestimated your website’s appeal. Anyway, you’re in no position to comment on style. I had a peek at your Twitter profile from the link you so kindly provided. You look more like a grocer than a blogger._

Bilbo sat staring at the laptop screen, mouth agape. Oh, it was getting personal now, was it? Well, Bilbo wouldn’t go down without a fight. He gulped the final lukewarm drops of his tea and started typing.

**Bilbo Baggins**

_I thought we were supposed to judge each other on our character and accomplishments, not appearance. Or does that only apply to princes, and not lowly commoners such as myself?_

Bilbo didn’t get a response until the following afternoon, having refreshed the page an embarrassing number of times during the work day and in his down time. This was exactly why he needed to spend more time with real-life people.

He saw the new comment while he was eating lunch at his computer, and he dropped a forkful of uneaten chicken back onto the plate so he could devote his full attention to it.

**Oakenshield**

_When you post such childish rantings in a public forum, you open yourself up to criticism of the same kind._

Bilbo shook his head in amused amazement—amuzement?—and stared at Oakenshield’s generic display image.

**Bilbo Baggins**

_Well, I’d hardly say it’s fair for you to see my picture when I can’t see yours. Go on then, show yourself._

A few minutes later, a new message popped up in the staff’s group chat. It was from Ori.

_Wow Bilbo_

_You’re really going at it with Prince Thorin’s biggest fan in the comments_

Then Lobelia chimed in.

_keep up the good work_

Bilbo would have liked to, but he couldn’t, because Oakenshield didn’t reply that day. Or the next day. Or the next. Bilbo felt a mixture of triumph and disappointment. He enjoyed having the last word, but it had been rather fun arguing with someone who could string a coherent sentence together, trollish as they were.

A fortnight after their disagreement began, with Oakenshield still slow to reply, Bilbo spotted a new Prince Thorin story. He thought it was the perfect opportunity to lure Oakenshield back to commenting.

So he got to work writing it up with the most scathing angle he could think of.

 

 

 

> It Appears Prince Thorin Has a (Cough Fake Cough) New Girlfriend
> 
> By Bilbo Baggins
> 
> There’s some news on the Prince Thorin front to report this afternoon, and sadly it does not involve him removing his boots. Over the weekend, the prince attended a fundraising gala to prevent deforestation. According to witnesses, he spent a generous portion of the evening in a secluded part of the venue, chatting privately with one Tauriel Silvan, Mirkwood’s most prominent environmental activist. One attendee even snapped a grainy cell phone photo of the two of them that spread like wildfire on social media.
> 
> The public is already planning a royal wedding, but I had a slightly different reaction to the news, as I’m sure does not surprise you. My reaction, of course, is that Thorin’s PR team should win an award for the fairy tale they’ve woven. Too bad I can see right through it. What do I mean by that, you ask? Let’s just say I believe Thorin is sporting two beards in the above photo, if you believe the rumors. (I do, and I assure you it’s not just wishful thinking.)
> 
> Just consider how much this “romance” could do for his image. Not only is it with a woman, but a woman from Mirkwood, a country with whom Erebor has had a shaky relationship over the past several decades but whom they could really use as their political and economic ally. And she’s involved with environmental protection, an issue with which Erebor has recently strived to associate itself to make up for its extensive mining.
> 
> Do I think Thorin will take this relationship as far as marriage? Only time will tell. But for now, he certainly seems to have the world fooled. Don’t believe everything you see on the internet, my friends. Except for everything I write, of course. You should believe every word of that.

Bilbo’s plan worked. That evening while eating dinner, he found a new comment from Oakenshield on the moderation page and nearly spilled his wine all over the keyboard in his excitement to read it.

**Oakenshield**

_You have truly outdone yourself this time, Mr Baggins. I hardly know where to begin. First of all, merely interacting with someone does not mean you are romantically involved with them, whether sincerely or for show. Second of all, do you honestly think Thorin would go to the effort of faking a relationship? He has far more important things to worry about, I assure you._

Oh, the sweet, sweet satisfaction of a job well done. Bilbo downed the remainder of his wine and began composing his reply.

**Bilbo Baggins**

_You seem to know quite a lot about Prince Thorin. Would you care to enlighten us as to his favorite foods, or perhaps a more complete list of all the things he’s supposedly far too busy to bother himself with? Otherwise I’m afraid I can’t take you seriously._

It took two days for Oakenshield to reply. In the meantime, Bilbo obsessively checked the Google News listings for Prince Thorin, in the hope that he would have done something noteworthy enough to write up. Unfortunately, all he found were leftover reports on his relationship with Tauriel. The internet really did drive things into the ground.

Finally, in the late morning when Bilbo was in the midst of writing about Lady Galadriel’s avant-garde gown at the Met Gala, a response came.

**Oakenshield**

_I am most certainly more informed about Prince Thorin’s private life than you are. Anyone with internet access can look up his favorite foods, as he’s made reference to them in various interviews. I can, however, say with confidence that Thorin and Miss Silvan are not involved at all, and at the moment those photos were taken, they were in fact discussing her secret engagement to Thorin’s nephew Prince Kili, which the royal family plans to reveal to the public next month, after Kili’s older brother Fili earns his PhD, so as not to overshadow his accomplishment. You’re going to feel very foolish very soon._

Bilbo sat gobsmacked. It was one thing to claim to know a celebrity’s personality and preferences, but it was something else entirely to go on and on outlining a very specific explanation for their behavior. This was no casual fan.

**Bilbo Baggins**

_From what Tumblr conspiracy theory did you get all of this, may I ask?_

Oakenshield didn’t respond, so after a few days Bilbo decided to do some digging of his own. He searched Google and every popular social media platform for reference to Kili and Tauriel being an item, but the only results he could find were articles about Thorin and Tauriel, with Kili mentioned as a side thought. Did Oakenshield really just concoct that explanation out of thin air, all for the sake of defending their precious prince?

Incredible.

Oakenshield’s radio silence continued for the next week, at the end of which Bilbo noticed that Prince Fili had indeed just completed his PhD in International Relations. Well, that was hardly secret information. He briefly considered writing up the story and coaxing Oakenshield to return with some sort of “I told you so” message, but Thranduil had been drunk again the previous evening, so that took priority.

Yet another week passed without a peep from Bilbo’s favorite troll. The Silver Spoon’s comments became very dull, and Lobelia urged her bloggers to write something absolutely scorching to drum up interest.

That’s when Bilbo saw the headline. It sneaked up on him during a cursory glance at Twitter in the middle of the day, and if he had been drinking anything at the time, he would have spat it everywhere.

_Prince Kili of Erebor Announces Engagement to Environmentalist Tauriel Silvan_

He clicked on the link. The first line of the article was, “Well, this certainly comes as a surprise.”

To all but some, it would seem.

His head was spinning so quickly that he didn’t even think to write something about the story until it was too late—Ori claimed it in the chat. So Bilbo decided to do something else with his time. That involved visiting the comment moderation page and checking the email address associated with Oakenshield’s account. It was mistymountains195@middle-earth.net.

Bilbo then composed an email to precisely this address.

_Dearest Oakenshield,_

_Fine, I’ll bite._ _You were right, and you seem to have been the only one who knew. So either you’re psychic, you’re very good at guessing, or you really are a reliable source. Do you intend to give The Silver Spoon any more anonymous tips, or are you going to just keep insulting my fashion sense in the comments?_

_Sincerely,_

_The Grocer_

He hit the send button and immediately wondered if it was in fact the right thing to do. He probably should have consulted Lobelia first. Was this kind of communication with commenters even allowed? Had he just cost himself his job, or had he gotten the site its biggest scoop in history?

He spent the rest of the day nervously popping chocolates into his mouth, consciously avoiding his inbox as the pile of aluminium wrappers on the table grew bigger and bigger. Eventually, he bit the bullet and checked his email. There was no response from Oakenshield. So he decided to revisit his post about Thorin and Tauriel to see if any other commenters had picked up on the prediction.

It was there that he discovered something highly unusual.

All of Oakenshield’s comments had been deleted. Bilbo rushed to check his previous article, the one about Thorin’s boots, and sure enough, the comments there had been deleted as well. It would have looked like Bilbo was having a conversation with himself, had there not been a “This comment was deleted” message left behind on every single one.

On the one hand, he felt rather guilty for having seemingly scared away a reader with his inappropriate communication. On the other hand, he was relieved, as this probably meant that Lobelia would be none the wiser, and he could go on pretending it had never happened. What he certainly didn’t feel was satisfaction. Or victory. Or anything else he had felt when interacting with Oakenshield previously.

Perhaps the warning was true after all—you really _shouldn’t_ feed the trolls.

Bilbo kept his head down for the next few weeks, writing mostly positive or neutral posts and keeping his interaction with commenters to a minimum. He tried to go on more walks to separate himself from his laptop, and he read more books. He even made some progress on his own book. He had to admit, he found it rather refreshing not to be so negative all the time.

Nearly six months after this whole business with Oakenshield began, Bilbo received a rather interesting Twitter notification. It informed him that Prince Thorin had followed him. At first he assumed it must be an imposter, but when he clicked on the link he was shocked to discover a blue check mark verifying the account. Still, the prince was following several hundred thousand people, and he probably didn’t even know his own password. As Bilbo had been so politely informed, Prince Thorin had much more important things to do.

Chuckling to himself, he followed back.

Five minutes later, he had a direct message. From Prince Thorin.

Haltingly, Bilbo opened it.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_Good afternoon, I hope this finds you well. I’m not sure if you remember, but several months ago I left some rather contentious comments on your work for The Silver Spoon. Yes, that was me. I can hardly believe I’m admitting it, and I expect you’ll probably post this message for all to see in no time, but I need to own up to my behavior. It’s been haunting me to no end since you sent that email and I realized how inappropriate I’d been. Even with the mask of anonymity in place, it was disgraceful. I would like to apologize._

Bilbo blinked several times. He closed the message. He got up to retrieve a bag of crisps and ate it standing over the sink. He sat down again. He opened the message. He read it three more times. He closed it. He scrolled his Facebook feed and saw three pregnancy announcements. He went back to Twitter and opened the message again. He typed a reply.

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_This is a hacker, right?_

The response was almost immediate.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_No._

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_An intern who is most certainly going to be fired for this by the end of the day?_

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_Also no._

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_Prove it._

This response took longer than the others, so for a moment Bilbo thought whoever this prankster was had given up. Turns out he was wrong about several things, as the message he eventually received contained a very interesting photo indeed.

It was a selfie, and the self depicted in it was none other than Prince Thorin. There was no denying that. There was also no denying that Prince Thorin was the one who sent the photo, as he was holding up a newspaper with today’s date, and across the top of the front page was scrawled, “I am Oakenshield.”

Thorin himself was wearing a playfully guilty expression, and Bilbo couldn’t help but curse him under his breath for how photogenic he was. He was wearing a casual zippered jumper over an oxford shirt, and he was sitting in front of a window overlooking a neatly manicured lawn.

Before Bilbo could even pick the pieces of his brain off the floor to respond, he received another photo. This one depicted a pair of scuffed leather boots, lying untied and unworn on a dark wood floor, with the very same newspaper beside them.

Next came another typed message.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_See? I can take them off._

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_So why don’t you?_

Oh, no. What was he thinking? He just sassed the prince of Erebor. He would most certainly be beheaded now.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_I like them. They’re comfortable. And my grandfather wore them during the war._

Well, shit.

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_I’m sorry. I didn’t know._

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_That’s all right. Your theories were rather funny._

Perhaps Bilbo just assumed he was in a dream, because he continued to respond as if none of this was actually happening and therefore he could type whatever he wanted. He’d been known to say things he maybe shouldn’t have when he was nervous, and apparently that habit also applied to online conversations.

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_So I guess you really don’t have anything better to do than comment on rubbish articles._

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_Oh no, I do. It’s just that I sometimes choose to Google myself instead._

Bilbo laughed. It was strange, he thought. If you’d told him this morning that in a matter of hours he would be having a private Twitter conversation with a celebrity, and a prince at that, he would have already been preparing to brag about the interaction to everyone who would listen, showing it off to his editor—hopefully for a raise—and posting it online for the world to see.

But as it was, he hadn’t once considered sharing this conversation with anyone. It seemed pointless anyway, considering he hadn’t even kept proof of Thorin’s comments in the first place. He would hate to tell an incomplete story.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_I see you changed your Twitter photo._

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_Yes._

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_You still look like a grocer._

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_Oh, brilliant._

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_But one whose shop I would most certainly frequent. Even if I didn’t need anything._

Bilbo reread this message at least a dozen times before he could even consider its implications. Was Prince Thorin of Erebor _flirting_ with him? No, certainly not. Surely he was just reading too much into things. Right?

Since the last thing he wanted was to appear presumptuous or improper when communicating with a monarch, he opted to respond with cluelessness, just to be safe.

**Bilbo Baggins @endofbag**

_What is that supposed to mean?_

Thorin took a bit longer to respond this time, but within a few minutes a new message had popped up.

**Prince Thorin @prince_thorin**

_Well, you were right about one rumor._

Bilbo immediately got up to put the kettle on. He was going to be needing a cup of tea for this.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Take Your Fandom to Work Day](http://takeyourfandomtoworkday.tumblr.com/) 2016\. So it's up to you to guess if I'm a celebrity blogger, a prince, or a professional troll.
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://myrtlebroadbelt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
